


Do It Like They Do On The Discovery Channel

by eeyore9990



Series: Big Bad John [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crack, M/M, Mentions of bestiality, Poor Sheriff, Pure Crack, implied sterek, mentions of rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-18 23:21:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1446583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sheriff John Stilinski.  That's a man you don't want to mess with.  He's SEEN things.  Terrible things that no man should ever have to see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do It Like They Do On The Discovery Channel

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I've read a few fics where Derek shifts while he and Stiles are having happy sexy times _in Stiles' bedroom_ and then this thought happened. And I just sat here laughing and crying for about an hour. 
> 
> It's probably way funnier in my head, but oh dear. I couldn't NOT share with you all.

Melissa's hand hovered over the door knob, worry filling her as the loud knocking started up again. Clearing her throat, she called out, "Who is it?"

"Melissa, it's John. I need… can you…?" 

Heart rate skyrocketing, Melissa hurriedly unlocked the deadbolt and the twist lock on the knob before jerking the door open. "John, what…?"

But John didn't even acknowledge her, just barrelled past her, his face white and eyes two sizes too big for his face. He had a death grip on a bottle of Jack Daniels and went immediately to the kitchen with her hot on his heels.

"Oh god," she whispered. "Is it Stiles? Did something happen to him? John, come on, you can't just come in here and not say anything. We promised each other."

John turned to her, his mouth opening and closing before he shook his head and went back to rifling through her cabinets. A gruff grunt escaped him when he found what he was looking for and pulled a thick glass tumbler, dusty from disuse, from the upper cabinet. He set it on the kitchen island, then looked between the glass and the bottle before shuddering and breaking the seal on the bottle. Forgoing the glass completely, he put the bottle to his lips and just started chugging.

Melissa let out a shout and yanked the bottle away from him, spilling a fair amount on the island's countertop. "What the _hell_ , John? You can't just come in here and get drunk off your ass! Now you start explaining yourself or get the hell out of my house. I kicked one drunk out years ago, I'm not above doing it again, even with someone I…" Taking two deep breaths, Melissa started over, forcing calm into her voice. "Okay, look, we're going to start simple. Nice yes and no questions. You can nod or shake your head, I don't care."

When John stared at the spilled whiskey with a hungry look on his face, Melissa just growled, which seemed to snap him out of it. Dragging a shaking hand over his face, John hunched his shoulders and said, "I… god. I don't even…"

"I'll start then. Is Stiles hurt?" That seemed a simple enough question, but Melissa could only blink in shock when John choked on a hysterical laugh.

"Yes? I think? Fuck, Mel, how the hell should I know? This isn't exactly a normal situation."

"Okay, so it's a werewolf thing."

John shook harder and put his head down flat on the counter, heaving breaths moistening the surface. "I don't know. I can't decide if I hope it is or hope it isn't and _God_ , I know that makes me a really fucking awful friend, but there you have it."

Melissa reached out and put a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Jonathan Stilinksi, I need you to pull yourself together. Right now. We're going to get up and go into the living room and sit down. Do you think you can manage that?"

Still shaky, John rubbed his forehead back and forth on the counter before he straightened up. Looking at the spilled whiskey on the counter, he gestured to it and said, "Let me just clean that—"

"Absolutely not. It's not hurting anything, but I just might if I don't get some clear answers out of you. March, mister." Melissa put as much Alpha Mom in her voice as she thought she could reasonably get away with.

When they were comfortably seated on the couch, Melissa prompted John with, "Okay, start talking."

Running a hand through his hair, John started and stopped several times before he seemed to find a way to start his story. "When I got off shift tonight, I went home like normal. The house was locked up and all the lights were off, but Stiles has been pretty good about letting me know when he's going to be gone for… things. So I figured he was just asleep, right? But when I was tiptoeing past his room, I heard… it sounded like he was in pain." John turned to Melissa then with wide, beseeching eyes, and she just nodded.

Of course, she was dying of laughter on the inside, because she was certain she was about to hear a tragic tale of a single parent walking in on their only child masturbating, but she was a loving, supportive friend. She could do this with a straight face. Nursing skills!

"But when I pushed his door open… Mel, he was naked and… and he was on his hands and knees. And there was a…"

Melissa's eyes flew open wide. Not masturbation then. 

"Oh my god, there was someone in there with him? Oh, honey."

But John was shaking his head, lips pressed into a thin line of anguish. "Not. Not some _one_. It was. A dog? Or a wolf? It was… it was licking him. In the, uh, in the ass." After sharing that tidbit of _way too much_ information, John looked at her and asked, sounding gut-punched, "Scott and the other, uh… Do they turn into real wolves?"

Melissa pressed her fingers to her mouth, her own eyes feeling too large for her face. Holy. Shit. "Just, um. Just the ones who are born that way, according to Scott?" And then, because that could only mean two people in town, she took a swig of the whiskey, wincing at the burn, before handing it back to him.

If ever a man deserved to have memories burned away by alcohol, it was John Stilinski. Jesus Christ, how had they ended up here? What terrible life choices had they made to lead to this moment, Melissa with an Alpha werewolf son and John with a… well, a _Stiles._

"Okay, so!" she said, her voice way too chipper. Twisting up her face, she shrugged in apology, then let out a loud breath. "So. It was either Derek Hale, Peter Hale, or one of the neighbor's pets." And then, God help her, she laughed. It was a tiny little titter of sound, but once it burst from her lips, she couldn't stop the rest that had built up behind it. 

And her hysteria set off John's. Before she knew it, they were curled together on the couch, nearly crying with laughter. When they finally settled, both clutching at their stomachs and going quiet but for the passing of the whiskey, Melissa did her best to put on her game face.

"All right. If it's Derek…?"

"In theory, I have nothing against Derek Hale. He's a good kid who doesn't deserve the shit sandwich life handed him. Knowing what I do now… well, I have no idea how he's still standing. But that theory falls apart when it's _my_ underage son he's fucking like an animal. So. There's that."

Licking her lips and grimacing at the taste of the whiskey on them, Melissa hesitated before saying, "And if it's Peter?"

"Oh, _hell_ no. I'll take Stiles to the pet store and help him pick out a boyfriend before I allow Peter Hale anywhere near him."

~*~

John's fingers tapped restlessly against his thigh as he waited for Stiles to get home from school. It had been three days—and two bottles of Jack between him and Melissa—since John had seen the soul-destroying evidence of Stiles' active sex life. Active. Yeah.

When the door opened and closed, John cleared his throat and called out, "Hey, kiddo, come on in here. I, uh, found something interesting on the television."

Stiles came in, cheeks pink from the heat of the day and hair ruffled—most likely from riding with his windows down. "Hey, Dad. What's up?"

"Just, um. Watching a documentary on the Discovery Channel. About wolves. Thought you might want to watch it with me." John shifted uncomfortably, eyes not quite meeting his son's.

But apparently Stiles didn't see anything wrong with the way he was acting, because he slung his backpack onto the coffee table before plopping down next to John. He plucked the remote from John's lax hand with a grin, then pushed play on the paused documentary.

It was wolves, John hadn't lied about that. But he'd left out the part where he'd rewound and paused just a few minutes before the documentary transitioned into the wolves mating. Getting ready, he shifted in his seat and surreptitiously cast glances at Stiles, looking for any sign that his son was… _enjoying_ this more than he should. Flushed cheeks or dilated eyes or, God help him, tented pants.

But no, Stiles just watched it attentively until the credits started rolling and turned to John with a wide smile. "Dad… thanks. I know this whole," he fluttered his hands around in mid-air, " _werewolf_ mess has been a bit much to take in, so thanks for...this." He gestured to the television and then leaned sideways, pulling John into a tight hug.

When they were both back to their previous positions, John leaned over and pressed the power button on the remote, letting the television fall black and silent. "So, speaking of werewolves." He cleared his throat and grasped at his last remaining straw. "Any chance _Cora_ Hale," because at least she was the same age as Stiles, "is back in town?"

Stiles' forehead wrinkled in confusion before he shook his head and said, "Nah. She's still down in South America. Apparently it's good for her or something. Derek doesn't really… talk about it."

And there it was. _Derek._ John took a deep breath and nodded. If nothing else, this could be— Nope. No jinxing himself until Stiles confirmed that the dog he'd been intimately acquainted with the other night was, in fact, Derek Hale.

"Son," he started, then winced because Stiles froze and turned toward him with an 'oh shit' look on his face. Right. John only called him 'son' when shit was about to explode in their faces. "Stiles," he corrected himself, then rolled his eyes when Stiles' face lost all color. "Look. I just wanted to let you know that… if you need to _talk_ to me, about anything, I want you to. I won't, uh, judge you or anything. I know," John's eyes went to the ceiling, looking for inspiration, before he realized he was looking at the spot directly below Stiles' bedroom. "I saw a dog in your bed the other night, and I really hope it was Derek Hale and not… someone else." He hadn't meant to blurt it out, but once he did, he felt at least somewhat better.

"Oh my _god_!" Stiles fell off the couch, hands waving all over the place, and it wasn't until a few seconds later that John realized his face was red not from embarrassment, but because he was in full-on panic attack mode.

"Whoa!" John said, sliding to the floor beside him and gripping his shoulders tight. "Breathe, Stiles. Breathe with me. It's okay, I promise. I—"

"You," Stiles gasped, yanking at the collar of his t-shirt, "saw?"

John grimaced, nodding. 

"Oh my god," Stiles wheezed again, though it seemed like his breathing was at least leveling out. "How is this my _life_?"

"I've been asking myself that for three days now," John muttered.

Silence descended while John waited for Stiles to process the last few minutes. 

"He's… he's not a _dog_ , Dad." 

John cocked an eyebrow at Stiles, who rolled his eyes. 

"I'm serious! I mean, yeah, I get it, he looks like a giant wolf, but under the fur and stuff, he's still _him_. So I mean. He's not… a dog." Stiles slumped, looking slightly dejected, against the couch.

"Okay. But just to be clear, we _are_ talking about _Derek_ Hale, right?" 

"What? Yeah, of course. Who else…" Stiles trailed off, his eyes going wide and then his entire face wrinkling with disgust. "Eww god, no. Not Peter. Never Peter. Okay? _Never_ Peter Hale."

John let out a relieved breath and nodded. "All right, then. Tell Derek I expect him for dinner on Tuesday."

"What? Why? Come on, Dad, don't go all, rwarrr Sheriff on him!"

Snorting, John said, "I think it's a bit late for that. No, I just have a few questions for him." 

Like whether or not knotting was a thing...

**Author's Note:**

> Yep. That happened. Feel free to come on over to [my tumblr](http://eeyore9990.tumblr.com) for more undiluted me-ness.
> 
> And apparently I wasn't done bc there is more fic in the comments.
> 
> AND THERE'S MORE! BeniMaiko was inspired to write this with the premise that the Sheriff doesn't know about were's. [Bloodhound Gang](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1447687) .


End file.
